One Boy's Toy Is His Brother's Treasure
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: Mollcroft one-shot. Started as a prompt for the lovely Popcorn Love. Just an example of how Mycroft is the smart one (and the sweeter one). What can I say, I LOVE it when he's being cute and Molly is cute right back!


**One Boy's Toy Is His Brother's Treasure**

The fingers of Mycroft's left hand gripped the handle of his umbrella tightly, and the fingers of his right hand tapped restlessly against his thigh. Was the elevator system of St. Bart's Hospital normally this excruciatingly _slow_? The sooner he saw Dr. Molly Hooper, the better. No, this wasn't how he had been planning on doing this, but the result of his visit to his darling brother this morning was to force his hand. Mycroft could only hope now that Sherlock hadn't gotten to Molly first.

However, it was soon after the elevator had finally delivered him to the level he wanted that Mycroft Holmes discovered that luck was not on his side today. Just off the morgue was Molly's office, and from that small room he heard the muffled sounds of furious cursing followed by what sounded like a trash can being kicked. _Bugger,_ thought Mycroft.

After taking a deep, fortifying breath, Mycroft knocked on the door. He heard the sounds from within cease and a few seconds pass before the door opened.

Molly Hooper looked quite frazzled and furious, like a pet who had been rough-housed with. The sight of him made the scowl on her face deepen to a dangerous level. " _Now_ what?" she muttered, putting her hands on her hips.

Mycroft's eyebrows raised upwards. "Bad day?"

Molly huffed, and Mycroft did his very best to ignore how utterly adorable she looked. "Thanks to your baby brother, yes, it is turning out to be just that!"

"I assume you refer to him as my _baby_ brother because he has just displayed how perfectly immature he can be?" He asked the question but dreaded the answer.

"Immature and _infuriating_ ," Molly said, going back into her office and quite violently opening one of her desk drawers. As she pulled out a pen and sat back down to a pile of paperwork on her desk, she muttered more to herself than to him: "After everything I've done for him, everything I've risked to keep him breathing and clean, he chooses to see me as a pathetic girl mooning over his shadow?!" She all but slammed the desk drawer shut.

Mycroft winced both outwardly and inwardly. He was getting a very good idea of what had just made Molly so angry, but needed to hear it from her in order to be perfectly clear of the situation that Sherlock had put them all in. He took a step into her office and said in the gentlest voice he could: "Dr. Hooper…the very last thing you deserve is to be treated without respect. What has he done?"

Molly looked up at Mycroft, as though she had momentarily forgotten that he was there. His tone and his gaze softened her scowl into a much sadder expression. Leaning back in her chair, she told Mycroft what had happened.

"About half an hour ago, I was working in the lab and Sherlock showed up. Like you, he's normally impeccably groomed if he's not working hard on a case. But I could tell he put some extra effort into his appearance. His shirt buttons were unbuttoned over halfway down his shirt." She rolled her eyes. "He was _extremely_ polite, in a sickeningly sweet way. Complimented my choice of hairstyle and jumper. Stood quite close to me as he asked if he could take me out to dinner tonight."

Mycroft felt a heat rising up the back of his neck, and his grip around his umbrella handle tightened.

"Well, safe to say I was completely shocked," Molly continued, crossing her arms and looking at the ceiling with a pinched expression. "That immediately gave way to confusion and I asked him what in the world was going on. I asked if he wanted something special from the morgue, or if he needed me to help him on a case in an undercover capacity, because why else could he be behaving like this? I thought he knew that I'd gotten over my infatuation with him years ago!"

Mycroft kept his expression carefully neutral even as relief washed through his soul upon hearing this.

"I kept pushing him for the truth, and he finally seemed to just _snap_. I can only define what he did next as a tantrum. He paced in front of me and pretty much berated me for not behaving like I used to when he used false flattery to get what he wanted. Basically stating that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to do; that I served a certain function in his life and that function was to provide help with his work and experiments whenever he so needed and nicely requested. I very nearly slapped him; I settled for giving him a good shove and ordering him to get out of my lab until he remembered that I was _not_ a lab tool."

Mycroft's mouth twisted into an ugly shape. He made a mental note to himself to give Mummy a call and inform her about how her youngest son treated the woman who saved his life. Then, he took a deep breath, and decided to be the better man…even if it meant Molly would give _him_ the slap that she had been holding back.

"I'm very sorry, Molly."

Molly looked at him again, and managed to give him a small smile as her expression softened again. "I know you feel the weight and responsibility of a big brother, Mycroft, but this wasn't your fault."

"Actually…it was." Mycroft couldn't help but look at his feet when he mumbled this.

Molly sat up in her chair, looking quite surprised indeed. "What do you mean, Mycroft?"

Taking another deep breath, Mycroft pulled up every ounce of bravery that he had in him so that he could look her in the eyes as he told her:

"I visited him this morning, because there's a little mystery that may be a conspiracy linked to one of the junior members of Parliament and his secret gay lover that I'd like Sherlock to unravel in his spare time."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Just how many of those come up every week?" she said wryly.

"You don't want to know, my dear," sighed Mycroft. He steeled himself again, and continued: "Well, we were talking and playing a board game, as we always do when I come to call. After discussing the case, we got to barbing at each other as usual. When he barbed that I had no friends, only goldfish, I barbed back that I…I did have a friend…in you, Molly."

He lowered his gaze again, not used to or entirely comfortable with admissions like this (even though he would have to make harder ones in a few moments). But when he saw Molly's hand reach out and grasp his free one, he looked into her warm, brown eyes.

"Of course you do, Mycroft," she said in a soft, rich tone.

He felt his heart rate speed up and the tips of his ears turn pink (and prayed that she would not notice either) before he squeezed her hand. He was now facing the most difficult part of this confession. He held her gaze as bravely as he could as he held onto her hand.

"Well, when I said this, it was more of an outburst than a statement because he was getting on my nerves, frankly. He noticed this, and kept digging and prodding until he…well, he found out the truth…and when he found that out, he laughed and had a wonderful time mocking me until I'd had enough and stormed out. In hindsight, my thunderstorm of a mood was exactly what was called for when meeting with Parliament being more stupid than usual immediately afterwards, but…still…" His voice trailed off, as if his voice had lost the will to speak any more.

He watched as Molly's expression became confused, angry at Sherlock's behavior, then confused again. "What…what truth was revealed, Mycroft?"

Mycroft visibly gulped, and answered in the only way he was capable of answering in that moment: He looked down at their joined hands, and tenderly stroked the back of hers with his thumb. Molly followed his gaze to their hands, and a few seconds later, Mycroft heard her give a gasp that was both sharp and soft.

Feeling even more exposed than he had when his brother had correctly deduced his heart, Mycroft let go of her hand and said, "I am sorry to have made your day even worse," in a hoarse, defeated voice. Gripping his umbrella as tightly as he could, he turned on his heel and walked away from Molly's office.

He practically marched in strides that would rival a racehorse down the cold corridor toward the elevators. He practically slammed the 'up' button by the elevator, and then proceeded to tap the tip of his umbrella in a rapid rhythm against the linoleum floor. This sound blocked the sound of footsteps running towards him until he heard the accompanying exclamation of "Mycroft, wait!"

Turning around, Mycroft saw that Molly was practically running down the corridor towards him, her coat thrown on and her purse in one hand. She stopped in front of him and took a moment to catch her breath; Mycroft silently waited in shock.

When she'd regained her breath (though her face was flushed a _very_ pretty shade of pink), she looked at him and said, "That wasn't fair. You don't get to reveal something like that, and then run away without giving me a chance to properly respond." Then she gave a small smirk. "Or did you want the image of me running after you like Scarlett O'Hara? You Holmes boys do like to be a bit dramatic sometimes."

He managed to let out a laugh as he looked down at his feet. But he lifted his gaze back to hers when he said, "I confess that hadn't entered my conscious train of thought…but I am sorry for my abrupt departure attempt. I am…poorly made…when it comes to situations like this."

These words were quite difficult to say because he could think of no better way to explain his behavior. Perhaps with time passed and hindsight discovered he would be able to better articulate what had been going on in his mind. For now, this was the best that he could do.

What Molly did next he would thank whatever deity may exist for every day of the rest of his life. She stepped closer to him, took his free hand with her own free hand, and gave him a shy smile. "No, I just think you're a bit unconfident about it because you're not used to it. Am I right?"

Mycroft could now fully understand what Sherlock had said when he'd asked his little brother why he trusted Molly Hooper: " _She sees people in a way that we, for all of our intellectual brilliance, cannot_." He now knew that she saw him, truly saw him, and he didn't feel raw or exposed at all, as he had been when Sherlock had deduced him. Molly's unique sight felt like a warm blanket that one could always find rest and comfort in.

Again, no words came to him. So, keeping eye contact with her, he lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles. She didn't flinch, take back her hand, or back away from him. What she did do was smile at him as her cheeks flushed that pretty pink color again.

"I have an hour for lunch," she said shyly, opening a metaphorical door for him.

He didn't hesitate in taking her invitation to come in.

"I know a lovely place just down the block."

At that moment, the elevator doors opened with a bright _ping_! The pair of them laughed and walked into the lift. They were still smiling and holding hands as the lift doors closed.


End file.
